


Falling

by ficteer



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: M/M, the gayest gay you can possibly imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficteer/pseuds/ficteer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened so slowly, he didn’t even notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> absolutely incredible

 

It’s a cold day of winter training the first time Mihashi shows signs of an injury. It’s a slight wince when his arm moves in an arc for the weight lifting, the kind of thing that anybody else would have attributed to the fact that the blond was increasing his lift weight for the first time in a while that morning. But Abe Takaya wasn’t just anybody else, and he knew the instant Mihashi’s eyelid twitched that something was amiss.

The rage builds up quickly in his gut and swirls into a nigh-unstable storm, but he isn’t the same person he was at the beginning of their battery, and as he closes his eyes and counts backwards from ten (okay, maybe twenty this time), he’s able to keep everything down to a low growl and a withering look.

“Give me your hand, Mihashi,” he says, holding out his own for a landing pad. It’s obvious that he knows he’s in trouble, but Mihashi is quick to place his palm down on top of Abe’s. Rotating it around gently, prodding here and there, Abe searches for the position that had caused Mihashi the discomfort. When he tentatively rules out Mihashi’s wrist, he continues up to his elbow, and finally to his shoulder, which finally earns him a peep when he moves the arm heavy in his hands away from Mihashi’s body.

“It’s not what you think…” Mihashi mutters after Abe has to sit down on the floor next to the weight machine and count backwards from thirty. He looks meek, his fingers pulling at his pants nervously as he refuses to meet Abe’s eyes. “I fell asleep on the couch… in an awkward position… is all!”

Abe hefts a heavy breath, moving his hand so that it’s resting on top of Mihashi’s shoe, his eyes locked with Mihashi’s when the older boy finally works up the courage to stop staring at everything _but_ his catcher. “Just in case, don’t work it any more today. And no pitching, either!” He tightens his hand around Mihashi’s ankle, gripping it tightly to convey how serious he was, earning a jerky nod in response. He relaxes it and then sighs again, eyes dropping to where his hand is resting on Mihashi and he lets out one last fatigued breath before putting his hand on the floor next to his thigh.

\----------

Snow means cold and wet and, for Abe, even more diligence. 

Izumi teases him incessantly about it, that just because Mihashi forgot his mittens one day and came to practice with shivering hands didn’t mean that Abe had to keep a second pair on him at all times. Izumi teases him, but he ignores it, because so what if he’d bought a pair with baseballs that matched his own with baseball gloves, and so what if Mihashi pulls his own mittens off to pull the ones Abe provides on instead, and so what if the smile on Mihashi’s face lights up Abe’s whole morning?

They stand close to one another as they wait in the dugout for practice to end with Momoe’s final words before they go to class, and Abe can’t help it as his eyes drift down and he sees what might be a shiver run over Mihashi’s exposed skin. He huffs, though it’s probably more forced than the frustration he actually feels, and he ignores Mihashi’s wide, curious eyes as he reaches up to his neck and takes off his scarf and starts to wrap it around Mihashi’s neck instead. 

Mihashi chirps a little fond sound in gratitude, burying his face in the soft material that’s still warm with Abe’s body heat. In return, Mihashi reaches his hands out and places them on Abe’s neck, smile going ear to ear as he leans into Abe cheerfully. “So you don’t get cold either!” he says, and Abe is helpless to do anything more than rest his hands on Mihashi’s and stare at his face long enough that he’ll never forget the exact curve of Mihashi’s lips in that expression.

“Get fucking married,” Izumi drawls, rolling his eyes.

\----------

The new year rolls around after a colder New Year’s than usual, and the team (well, Tajima) decides that they should spend the last day before classes begin again together at Mihashi’s house.

They’re set to meet at lunch, but Abe finds himself ambling over not too long after he finishes breakfast. Shun asks to come so he could talk to Tajima and get to see more of Mihashi’s nice smile, but the devastating combo of Abe’s glare and their mother’s reminder that Shun had yet to finish his chores had Abe walking the distance unaccompanied by his hero-worshiping little brother.

Unsurprisingly, as Abe approaches Mihashi’s house, he hears the swish of tape and the thunk of a ball. Mihashi is pitching to his little setup, winding up beautifully and practicing the backspin Haruna had finally convinced him to try. It’s not complete and not as perfectly-placed as the rest of his pitches, but his forkball is coming along nicely enough with Momoe’s father continuing to train him when the two can manage to get together.

As Mihashi finishes a pitch, Abe walks forward and calls his name, startling him into stiffness. When his eyes lock with Abe’s, he visibly relaxes, and a small curve of a smile pulls onto his lips. “Abe-kun… aren’t you early?”

Instead of words, Abe responds by zipping open the bag slung over his shoulder, lifting his catcher’s glove and basking in the excited cry Mihashi makes at the sight. He’s not wearing a helmet or a mask, or any of his protective gear, but as he gets into a crouch next to Mihashi’s tape, he doesn’t quiver at all. There’s no fear or tension in any muscle in his body, he thinks, sinking into his crouch with a satisfied warmth. His trust is rewarded with the satisfying sound of the ball hitting his mitt in the best possible place, his heart rate increasing with the speed of Mihashi’s pitches. 

They go until Sakaeguchi arrives, the first of their team that suddenly comes almost all at once. Abe stands and removes his mitt to put it back in his bag, walking up to where Mihashi is surrounded by teammates - _friends_ \- and reaching a hand up to the blond’s shoulder. He rubs it lightly, not pushing into the joint or forcing any movement, and it’s a moment before he realizes that he’s doing it more for himself than for Mihashi’s sake. He thinks about the electricity that followed the arc of the ball between them, how it all originated from this arm, and he feels his fingers tightening without any conscious command.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, walking along with Mihashi with his arm around the other boy’s shoulders, resting there as he continues to stroke the joint beneath his palm. The others are led into the house by Tajima, who yells about smelling curry before inviting himself in and getting yelled at by Hanai for not taking his shoes off first.

Mihashi’s chin dips in a quick motion, hands light as he holds them on his chest and stares at what Abe knows is an expression probably fonder than he should be allowing himself to give. But he can’t help it or stop it, not when he feels Mihashi warming beneath his arm, not when he feels the subtle way he leans into the touch, not when Mihashi’s lips part and he responds “Good!” in a manner that tells Abe without telling him all he needs to know; that it feels good, but it feels good because it’s with Abe, wouldn’t feel as good with anyone else.

He doesn’t move his arm until they’re sitting down and eating lunch, but the physical connection is maintained in their knees touching beneath the table, a small point of contact that’s still so warm and familiar, and Abe can’t help but notice that every time one of them shifts and breaks the touch, the other moves to restore it. It’s immature and silly, but it has him smiling so much that Tajima elbows him in the ribs and wiggles his eyebrows excitedly.

\----------

It’s the last day with the original team, Abe thinks, looking over the field from his way to class. The new first years are coming to try out the next morning, and he finds himself staring hard at the mound as he starts to walk, remembering this time last year when he’d stood over a completed mound and wondered what kind of pitcher would take a stand on its peak, before he knew Mihashi Ren and could look at a mound before an elevated heart rate from thinking of golden hair.

Second year classes are even harder than the previous year’s, and he finds himself thinking about how he’d probably have to work even harder to tutor Mihashi. But then he remembers how Nishihiro is still ahead of him, and Mihashi and Tajima were both the kind of idiots that needed that kind of instructor, and while Abe was smart, he wasn’t _that_ smart and still needed his own time to study. 

“Stop pouting or Sensei is gonna give you detention,” Hanai whispers from the desk next to him, and Abe straightens his spine and stares at the board with a glum expression. Two students had already gotten hit with a punishment for not paying attention in class, and he was damned if he was going to be a third and miss any opportunity to be playing baseball.

Luckily, he escapes the day without penalty for his wandering mind, and practice feels better than ever. Mihashi’s backspin is improving wonderfully, and Abe finds himself wondering if it was because he was feeling pressure from the incoming first years. They’d never had competition for the regular slots, after all, and maybe Momoe’s dad was right and that was exactly the kind of passion their team needed.

All of that energy morphs as Abe walks his bike next to Mihashi’s, some kind of silent agreement between the two that he wasn’t really sure he could put into words to someone else, because the desire to lengthen the path home if it meant spending time with Mihashi was a complex one, one that made his stomach feel tight and his chest heavy with pleasure. Mihashi is talking to him about his day in class, his voice jagged and all over the place, but it’s almost soothing in its endless stream, and Abe finds himself closing his eyes at a stoplight to take in the sensory caress of Mihashi’s tone.

“You should come over tomorrow,” Abe says when they get to the light post where they part, swinging his leg over his bike as he gets ready to ride the rest of the way home. “Shun won’t shut up for five minutes about wanting to see you.”

As always, Mihashi never fails to surprise him. His voice is soft and there’s a hiccup of hesitation, but there’s no stutter. “What about… Abe-kun?”

Abe burns from the inside out, hands tightening on his bike handles as he takes the moment to swallow whatever words were coming out of his mouth for something more thought out, something safer. “Yeah… I want to see you too.” But not safe enough, if the way Mihashi flushes from the tips of his ears down past his shirt collar is any indication, and Abe is suddenly fueled with the energy to take on three more hours of practice, but Mihashi is stuttering his promise to walk home with Abe tomorrow and heading home, leaving Abe with no outlet beyond taking the long route home.

\----------

His bedroom is the loudest silence he’s ever experienced.

Shun is downstairs helping their mother with dinner, and there’s the sound of a baseball game on the television with his father’s loud commentary. His mother asks a question, but Abe doesn’t hear her over the thundering brush of Mihashi’s sleeve next to him. Or maybe it’s just his heart in his ears, he thinks, swallowing thickly as Mihashi shuffles again, his sleeve brushing over Abe’s knee again, and then heat as Mihashi places his hand, his _naked hand_ on Abe’s knee.

“How does it feel?” Mihashi asks, fingers light as fairy wings against Abe’s skin, and he has to swallow the plead for more contact before he can answer.

“It’s fine. I healed perfectly over the fall tournament,” Abe responds, reaching over and letting his fingers mingle with Mihashi’s. That’s all the contact he expects, but Mihashi seeks more, leaning until his forehead is pressed against Abe’s shoulder, breath hot on Abe’s collarbone. He tries to think of something to say, tries to think of an excuse for the pounding of his heart because there’s no way Mihashi can be this close and not hear it, but all that comes out of his mouth is a soft breath of air when Mihashi nuzzles his face closer and gives Abe a face full of that soft hair that smells like summertime and shampoo.

His free hand comes up and traces through Mihashi’s hair, delighting in the gentle curls and tugging just enough to get a soft murmur of pleasure in his ear. Abe shudders when Mihashi’s other hand traces up his thigh of the leg that hadn’t been injured, fingers searching for purchase and finding it in a belt loop. 

Just when he thought he couldn’t take any more, there’s a soft breath of air against his throat, except it’s not just a breath, it’s a word, and it’s not just a word, it’s his name, it’s Mihashi’s lips forming the syllables “Takaya”, and the response Abe feels shuddering through his body is so primal, it’s happening before he even realizes that it’s happening. His forehead presses against Mihashi’s, eyes closed because there’s no way he could look directly into the sun, and when there’s a whisper of lips against his own, his mind blanks and all he can do is hope to keep up with the stars swimming on the back of his eyelids. 

When they go down to dinner, Abe sits next to Mihashi with more happiness than one person should ever feel, and he extends his right foot to catch Mihashi’s ankle with his own so that their legs were entwined, out of sight and warm as that first summer sun when Abe had first caught Mihashi’s insecure pitch.


End file.
